


Reunion

by Masu_Trout



Category: Ib (Video Game)
Genre: Fix-It, Future Fic, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Older!Ib, POV Outsider, Post-Canon, Reunions, Takes From Multiple Endings, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 05:06:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2839130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masu_Trout/pseuds/Masu_Trout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“You know,” he said, “I think I might have a picture you'd be interested in.”</em>
</p><p>The old art shop has catered to many odd guests over the years, and this woman may just be one of its strangest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Harukami](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harukami/gifts).



The woman in the doorway had long brown hair and wide eyes the color of dried blood; she looked like a character out of a horror movie. Alexander knew it was unfair – plenty of young people had odd styles these days – but he couldn't help but startle as she walked into his shop.

For a long moment, the only sound was the bell across his door, announcing her arrival. They both stood there – he looking at her, and she staring at the paintings that lined the walls – until he finally remembered himself.

“Welcome to The Artist's Touch,” he said, sweeping an arm out to encompass the entirety of his tiny shop. “We might not have as much of a selection as some these days, but I've been here for fifty years now and I can assure you I've got an eye for quality.”

Before he could even finish his spiel, the woman had wandered away. She stood at one of the far walls, examining a rack of postcards with an apathetic look on her face. 

“Thank you,” she said quietly, not even bothering to look him in the eye.

Alexander bit his lip. People these days, honestly. 

The woman seemed fairly young, but she certainly wasn't a teenager, and in his opinion there was no excuse not learning some basic manners by that age. Were he twenty years younger he would've given her a piece of his mind, but, well... art didn't sell as well as it used to, especially not in small-town shops like this, and a customer was a customer.

Instead, he made his way from behind the counter to stand next to the woman. A bit of passive-aggressive politeness, perhaps, but at least he wasn't openly being rude. 

The woman had picked out one of their gallery postcards, the one bearing a picture of Guertena's _Ambition_. She was studying it intently, and gripping it so tightly he was worried she might wrinkle the card.

“Those our some of our more popular postcards. Makes for a striking letter, I guess.” 

The woman jumped and sucked in a quick breath. 

“Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to startle you.”

“No, it's fine,” she said. “I wasn't paying attention.” 

“Are you a fan of his work?”

That actually got a smile out of her; it was a quick, joyless twist of the mouth that was gone almost before he realized what it was, but he counted it as a victory nonetheless. “Honestly? I hate Guertena. But..." She smoothed one finger along the crescent of the painted moon. “Somehow, I just keep coming back to his art.”

Alexander laughed. He'd had the woman pegged for a bored college student looking for a place to get out of the cold, but it seemed she had some actual art knowledge after all. “That's how I feel about Dali, you know? Melting clocks and elephants with tuba heads and all that... I never got it, always thought it was silly. And yet somehow I ended up with three of his prints on my wall at home. Strange, which artists suck you in.”

“I can't argue with that.” The woman regarded him deliberately. 

She had an odd way of looking at a person; sort of unfocused and intent at the same time. It was like she was staring right at you but seeing something else entirely. He'd pegged her as rude, but he was starting to think that he'd been too uncharitable – she wasn't so much impolite as just plain strange. Nothing wrong with that, really; lots of odd folks in the art world, and plenty of geniuses among those.

“You know,” he said, more to break the silence than anything else, “I think I might have a picture you'd be interested in.”

“I doubt you have the sort of thing I've been looking for.” The woman shrugged. “But if you think so, I'll take a look.”

He wanted to be insulted at the implication – his taste in art was _excellent_ , thank you very much, but she wasn't exactly wrong. Alexander didn't have any idea himself what her ideal picture might be, only that he wanted to help this woman find something she liked. 

He found himself gravitating towards one of the back racks of art – it was mostly amateur works by local unknowns, good enough for him to display but not well-known enough to get the prime real estate in his little souvenir shop-cum-gallery. 

He looked through them absentmindedly for a little while, the woman peering intently over his shoulder. Finally, he stopped on a small painting he'd had for near as long as he could remember, and thought _of course_.

“Here,” he said, carefully pulling it off the rack, “This reminds me of you for some reason.” He passed it across to the woman, who took hold of it gently.

“Some nice young fellow sold this one to me a while back. Name of...” Who _had_ sold this one to him? He felt as though he could remember getting it as clearly as if it had happened yesterday, but when he tried to pull a name – or even a face – into his mind, the whole memory just... slid away. “Huh, you know, I can't recall. Guess my memory isn't as good as I thought it was. There a signature on that thing?”

He stepped next to the woman to try and get a look, but stopped when he saw the expression on her face. She was staring at the painting, and this time there was nothing sleepy or uncaring about her gaze; she was fixated on it with every fiber of her being. She held it, softly, with trembling hands, and hardly seemed to be breathing at all. 

“Are you all right?” he asked her. It wouldn't do him any good if she passed out and fell on top of one of his displays.

“I'm fine,” she said. She swallowed, twice, convulsively. As he watched, a small but impossibly genuine smile blossomed across her face. She looked transfixed, enraptured. “It's just... I think you're right. This is just what I've been looking for.”

“Yeah?” he asked, pleased. He knew he still had that salesman's touch.

“It looks just like a real Guertena.”

“I does, doesn't it?” He laughed. “I wish it were! If I had something like that on my hands, this place would look a lot fancier. But, you know...”

He took a last long look at the picture, now that he knew he'd likely never see it again. It was a brightly-colored fantastical landscape scene done in blues and golds, depicting a field of roses under a dead gray sky. In it, a man and a child slept – the man in blues on a bed of gold roses, the girl done in golds on a bed of blue. In their sleep, their hands stretched toward each other, fingers lightly brushing at the point where the differently-colored roses intersected. It was a pleasant enough scene, but it somehow seemed melancholy all the same.

“I think you're right. It does seem like something he would paint. I suppose that's why I thought of you.”

The woman clutched it closer to her; it looked almost like she were hugging the painting. He thought of warning her about the effects of finger oils and dust on the long-term value of the painting, but decided against it. She seemed knowledgeable enough; if she was buying it it was no business of his how she chose to hold it.

“Well, shall I ring that up for you, then?”

“Yes, please,” she said, digging for her wallet. Another smile – even smaller than the first, but still joyful – lit up her face as she handed him her card.

“Well, Miss -” he quickly checked the card, and did a double-take; strange name for a strange lady, he supposed - “Ib, I hope you enjoy your new painting. Will you be putting it up once you get home?”

“Something like that. I'd like for my friends to be able to see it.”

“Oh, definitely. Something like this, you have to show it off.” He wrapped the painting carefully, then handed it back to her with a smile. “Well, I hope you have a lovely day, Ib!”

“Thank you,” she said, glancing back at him as she turned to leave, “I hope I do, too.” She was back to that big-eyed stare, but somehow it didn't seem so frightening now.

Just as she was walking out the door, a sudden thought hit him. “Ib!”

She paused at the doorway, painting under one arm. 

“Sorry I couldn't remember the artist, but maybe this'll help you find 'em if you're interested. I just recalled the name of that painting. But, actually -” he frowned - “Maybe it won't help. It's an awfully generic title.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I definitely remember it now – the painting's name is _Reunion_.”

“Reunion,” Ib breathed. She blinked once, slow and solemn. Her thumb caressed the picture's edge.

“Thank you, mister. For everything.” And with that, she was out the door, just one more drop in a river of people.

Alexander watched out the window front until her bright red coat was finally swallowed up by the crowd and the evening gloom. He normally didn't get such interesting customers. He hoped she enjoyed her painting.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Yuletide! I really love this game, and I've always desperately wished for an ending where everyone can be happy, so your prompt was like candy to me. I'm cheating a bit on the endings here, since as far as I can remember there isn't a canon ending where both Garry and Mary end up alive but trapped, but... well, call it artistic license, I guess.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed!


End file.
